Replacements
by JadedEcho
Summary: Post CoS. The death of a comrade engulfs Roy Mustang in a murder mystery that spans two worlds as homunculi wreak havoc on both sides of the gate.
1. Prologue

Prologue

They had come into his office unannounced. That in itself was not unusual. It seemed to have become a policy that common courtesies did not need to be observed for the disgraced Brigadier General. These two were not in the military, however. They were an older man and a younger woman, both in black mourning clothes, with grave countenances. The young lady stayed in the corner and did not meet his eyes.

"Brigadier General Mustang." He recognized the older man by sight, if not by name. He was an elder financier and a backer to some of the members of the parliament. He also had an annoying tendency that many people seemed to adopt when they saw him, which was to not look at him directly, but rather focus on the eye patch over his left eye. "I bring you err- some rather sad news. I am ah- Victor Hausman. I am- we are-" He gave the girl behind him a passing backward glance. "Currently involved in an ongoing investigation of the matter. It is regrettable that we have to meet in such circumstances… I have heard great things about the Flame Alchemist in my circles. Particularly, with the matter at hand-"

"What matter?"

Hausman looked faintly appalled that he had been interrupted. He proceeded in the same blustering manner as before. "Your former subordinate, the First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, was found murdered in her room yesterday morning. We believe it to be the work of an alchemist. An investigation of the matter is ongoing, and I assure you it will be...thorough. I was told we should inform you of this and so I have. My duty is done here, and so I bid you good day, General."

Hausman bent to put his coat on with methodical care, being very careful not to look at the alchemist before him, who had paled suddenly, and was now effectively the same shade of white as the many papers littering his desk. His jacket buttoned, Hausman turned and left out the door, barking after his companion. "Laura! Get out here!"

The young woman looked wholly sorry that her name had been pulled into this. The Flame Alchemist did not notice this, because upon hearing Hausman leave, he slumped over his desk. He didn't seem aware that she was even still in the room.

"I'm sorry!" She whispered. It meant nothing. He didn't even seem to hear her. She turned heel and exited as fast as she could.


	2. Chapter 1

1

3 Months Later

"Here's the key. I ain't moved nothing since your boys told me not to touch anything here. You gotta tell me when that ban's lifted, miss. Apartment like that's good money, dead woman or no. I want to get it on the market soon."

Laura did not have much sympathy for the landlord, but nodded as though she understood. "I'm sorry for all the trouble, but the investigation is still going on. There's still a lot I need to see in there."

"You thinking of moving in?" He said abruptly. "This is the fifth time this week you've been poking around here."

"No." She hid a shudder. "I have too little money and too many scruples to buy this place." He shook his head at that, but waved a hand as she went up the stairs. The place was familiar to her now and she did not need him to show her the way to the apartment that had once been occupied by the late First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye.

It was not entirely the investigation that called her back here. There had been several murders of military personnel, all found in similar circumstances. Hawkeye was not the first one to die in Central, that was Heymans Breda, whose case Laura had been on prior to this one. She was not the first woman to die either, that had been Maria Ross, in the West. It was her apartment, Laura supposed, that kept drawing her back. It reminded her in a strange way of her home. The sunlight streamed in from the windows and there was a quiet sense of order about the place, like her home used to be. At least that was how she remembered it, but her memory was becoming an increasingly unreliable thing.

It was Equivalent Exchange. Something had to be given in exchange for safe crossing, even if it hadn't been her choice in the first place.

She always had the urge to knock before she entered the lieutenant's apartment. It looked like someone was still living here, like someone would come walking through the door any minute now. She was an intruder here. Yet after all this, she felt closer to a dead woman she'd never met than she did to most people in this world. She knew quite a bit about Riza Hawkeye when all was said and done. Would they have been friends if they had met? She liked to think they would have. A naïve way of thinking, considering how things had turned out.

Riza Hawkeye's apartment had been untouched since she'd died and was as pristine as she'd left it. That in itself was telling. It appeared that she had been getting ready for bed before she'd died. She'd died in her uniform; there was a nightgown on the bed waiting for her. A small dog's bed was next to her own, but the dog was nowhere near here. He'd been taken in by someone else after her death. Apparently he got out at night and scratched at the door, howling to be let in.

Her throat had been cut quickly and deeply. She hadn't struggled. She was a military woman; it was unlikely she'd been caught so unaware. That implied that her killer was likely someone she'd known and possibly admitted herself.

Within that was the heart of the matter. It was the primary reason Hausman had sent her along with him when he'd informed Brigadier General Mustang; he wanted a second pair of eyes to see his reaction. Mustang and Hawkeye had known each other very well. There were rumors around Central that they had been lovers once, although that appeared to have ended once the General resigned from the State Alchemists and journeyed to a thankless post up north. Still, there were no whispers of bad blood between them. She would have let him in if he'd come by.

There was an alchemist array painted around her body. Laura knew almost nothing of alchemy, but she knew the language inscribed within the circle; it was Latin. She had learned enough of this world to determine that history had become skewed from her own somewhere along the line. The Romans had never risen to prominence; the empire here was Amestris'. Latin was unknown here. She wasn't a police officer or an investigator in the slightest, but once upon a time ago, she had been a student in Britain who knew something of Latin. That made her valuable to Hausman, at least temporarily, and that was why she had been roped into this investigation.

Five deaths, five soldiers, and five arrays. And they were still no closer to finding the killer.

Hausman was of the opinion that it was Mustang, at least for Hawkeye, and he was eager to make the arrest. He hated Mustang, although she wasn't sure why yet, beyond the fact that all of the former Fuher's supporters hated Mustang with a passion. You still could not just go and arrest a brigadier general though, not without evidence, even if he was a disgraced one, and even Hausman had said derisively that Mustang would have a hard time drawing this array with one eye.

It had become her job now to copy the design and to translate the words within it, which, considering the words were written in blood, was proving to be difficult. She tugged at her gloves, sketching out the lines as she sat on the foot of the late lieutenants bed. It jogged her memory a bit. Back to her home, which felt so distant now. It had been meeting those two boys that had started it all, when they'd showed up in the professor's office and turned the whole place upside-down.

**--------------------------------------------**

_"Can I help you?" Her voice barely concealed her disdain. The day was practically over, and the last thing she wanted was to have people showing up in the library before she was due to leave. They were also sopping wet from the rain and dripping it onto her neat pile of books, which would require further cleanup. _

_"We're looking for Vittoria Black. You seen her?" The taller of the two boys spoke in an infuriatingly, self-assured manner. He still wasn't particularly tall. If she'd been standing, she might have been an inch taller than him._

_"Professor Black is busy." The smaller one had the grace to look apologetic as she carefully wiped the water off of the desk. The taller one just gave her a sour look. "May I ask what this is regarding?"_

_"She's expecting us. We're the Elric brothers."_

_He said that like she should have heard of them before, which she hadn't. "You're Germans?"_

_"Oh no, really? What gave us away?" She said nothing. It was unfair that his nationality set her on edge, but there was a war going on. "We're not Nazis, if that's what you're getting at. My father's got all the visas. I've got papers from your government if you want to see them."_

_She did, and he passed them to her. Edward Elric, age 18. The brother was Alphonse, age 17. Both German citizens. None of that made it clear why they were here. "If the professor is expecting you, then she should be down shortly." She said, a little flatly. "You may take a seat if you'd like to wait."_

_"Thanks, we will." He sat down in a spare chair, looking with mild interest at the bookshelves. He was docile now, at least. What did they want the professor for? They didn't look much like scholars. Not like her… She sighed and went back to her work. She'd come here expecting to be an assistant to the professor and ended up as a third-rate Latin translator. _

_Something caught her eye at the edge of her glasses. Edward had stretched lazily, and she saw a quick flash of something as his sleeve fell down to his wrist. Metal? She must have gasped involuntarily, because he looked up sharply. "Sorry." She said faintly, realizing her rudeness. "I just- I thought I saw something."_

_"You aren't seeing things." He pulled back his sleeve, revealing a metal prosthetic that glinted in the dim light. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. He tapped it lightly with his other hand, making a pleasant 'ping' sound. "My leg's like that too."_

_"Who are you guys anyway?" Her voice shook a little, and she hated it. "What kind of business do you have here?"_

_He gave her a very wry smile. "Supposedly between your professor and us, we have knowledge of a weapon that would make Adolf Hitler weep with envy."_

**------------------------------------**

In retrospect, that should have been her cue to leave, but that was only clear with the wisdom of hindsight. Things had gotten much busier after that; just like now, there had been an investigation. Professor Black had been called in to translate some Latin found at three murder sites, and as her assistant, Laura had followed. At the time, she had found it quite exciting and thought she was the lucky for getting such a great opportunity. The professor had been desperate for another Latin translator, and she took the first one she could get, which happened to be Laura.

It was only late that Ed pointed out the folly in that. There were hordes of out-of-work scholars who were too old to fight and who knew Greek, Hebrew, and Sanskrit over her meager 8 years of college Latin. There was no good reason at all for the professor to have hired her. When she finally realized what Vittoria had been up to, she was appalled to find that they'd all been used.

But that was another world away, and there was nothing she could do about that now. If Ed were here, he would have yelled at her to get her ass in gear, because there was work to be done. Of course, Ed would have bristled at working under Hausman; he hated working underneath anyone. But Hausman had money and influence in this world, and she was lacking in both. She wasn't a fighter or an alchemist. She didn't have any way out of this besides her wits, and those were probably lacking too.

There was a noise, quiet enough, but in this dead apartment, it grated on her. She'd been an idiot not to lock the door behind her. She looked around for something, and her eyes fell on the guns, still holstered on Hawkeye's nightstand. She sent up a silent prayer to the late first lieutenant, forgetting momentarily that she didn't believe in an afterlife, and loosed one gun out of its holster, holding it much tighter than she should have. Her father had taught her how to shoot once up on a time ago. Hopefully she wouldn't need too… It might have been just a simple noise, maybe the dog had tried to get back in, maybe… She inched her way to the door, still holding the gun tight enough to make her knuckles white-

-where she came dangerously close to bumping into a very bemused looking Brigadier General Mustang.

"Aaah!" It was not a particularly dignified response and later she'd regret it. "What are you doing here? I almost shot you!" She had come perilously close to saying she almost shot out his other eye, and felt bad for it instantly.

He looked a little more at ease now that he'd seen who she was. "You wouldn't have shot me."

"And why not?" She said hotly, feeling stupid that she'd overreacted.

"Because," He reached over and flicked a switch on the gun. She recoiled when he'd touched it, like it would have fired just from that. "You left the safety on."

She muttered something unintelligible, embarrassed for her mistake. "Why are you here, General Mustang? This is a restricted zone. Mr. Hausman would find it very suspicious that you're here."

He raised an eyebrow at her and she felt like a stupid child again at the age of 25. "And you?"

She tried to draw herself up to her full height and regain some meager scrap of her dignity. "I'm an investigator authorized by Mr. Hausman."

"No, you're not." He cut her off quickly and succinctly. "If you were, you'd be carrying your own gun." She was cursing herself silently and turned the safety back on. "I never thought I'd see that pointed at me again. I…" She followed his gaze to see that his eyes had fallen on the transmutation circle and he looked horrified. She realized that his face was ashen, as he realized for the first time where he was and that he looked like someone who had lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time. "Is this- is this where-?"

"Yeah, it's-" She stammered, unsure of what to do in the face of his grief. "C-come on out of here; we shouldn't talk in here-"

He did look a little better once they were outside in the living room. It seemed as though he had realized where he was exactly and who she was. He exhaled, and his voice sounding heavy when he spoke again. "They drew an alchemic array around her _with her own blood?_"

He wasn't wearing his gloves, but it wasn't exactly an alchemic attack she feared. She closed her eyes. She didn't want to see his reaction. "Yes."

"Why the hell did you not tell me that the first time you came?"

"Because Victor Hausman considers you his prime subject!" She said angrily. She'd forgotten herself for a moment. "And the fact that you even showed up here, scaring the hell out of me, by the way, is not going to improve your standings with him!"

He did not seem unduly concerned about that. "Clearly you don't, or you probably wouldn't have said all that."

"Tell me, General Mustang, do you know what 'regina deum' means?" She could tell immediately that he did not. "Well, that's one of the words in the array. That's a language that nobody seems to understand, although the fact that you don't know it won't be enough to solidify your innocence with Hausman."

"What dies it mean?"

"Queen of gods," She said absently, then cursed her mistake.

"So you know it."

"I'm not an alchemist." She said nervously. It was all coming rapidly undone. If there was anything she'd learned in gathering intel around Central, it was that she did not want this man as her enemy. "I could never draw something like that in a million years."

There was an uncomfortable period of silence. She tried not to fidget under his gaze, which was surprisingly piercing, eye patch or no. "Tell me what you know." His voice was low, dangerous. "I am going to find who did this to Riza. You're not going get in the way of that. Either you can help me, or-"

She did _not_ want to know what 'or' entailed. "We're both after the same thing. I want to find her killer too. And it's not… just because it's my job. But I've got some other research going on on the side, and I have questions of my own I need answers for that. I'm not an alchemist, but I'm familiar with the concept of Equivalent Exchange. My position with Hausman is precarious. It would be unwise for me to give any information without gaining something in return."

"You're a spy." He said flatly. "You've been working for Hausman as an informant as well. Don't pretend not to, because I'm aware of what's been going on in Parliament. You're not from Amestris, you're not listed on Hausman's staff, and you're sure as hell not an investigator. Who are you and where did you come from?"

"I'm just a translator." She couldn't hide the bitterness in that tone. "And anything beyond that, I'm only what other people have made me. I only do what's necessary for me to survive." She had gotten to be a fairly good liar under the professor and Hausman's respective tutelages, when she never had been before. She could do it now without batting an eye or giving some other telltale sign of deception. But it was not in her heart to be anything but honest, at least not with this man. "My name is Laura O'Rielly. I'm not from this country. It's someplace you wouldn't have heard of."

"Try me."

"That doesn't matter now. We're both here for the same thing." She sighed irritably and sat down on the end of the lieutenant's couch. He looked like he wanted to tell her to get off of it, but thought the better of it. "I want to help you, but I need an alchemist's help."

"I'm not going to help you." He said harshly.

"Whatever I ask will not compromise your position in the military. It will not get back to Hausman either. In return, I'll tell you everything I know about Lieutenant Hawkeye's death and whatever else you need. I'll make a copy of my translation of the words in the array when I'm done with it." She had gotten her voice to sound quite calm, which belied everything she felt. "It is Equivalent Exchange."

She saw a muscle twitch involuntarily in his neck. There was loathing written all over his face and directed entirely at her, which, while not unexpected, was not something she'd wanted. "I'll give you something for free then. When I was home, there was a case very similar to this one that I was pulled in on for the woman I worked for. A man was murdering children there, and he was writing things in Latin and drawing designs like this one too." She lost a measure of her carefully measured calm there; her voice was giving much too easily. "There is no alchemy there, so it was just senseless. It had no point. There was only one boy who escaped. He didn't get a good look at the murderer, but he said the whole time he never stopped talking about his beautiful little daughter. I've heard there was a soldier who was murdered in Central who might match that description."

His lips moved slightly, but no sound came out. The look on his face was like when he'd first heard about Hawkeye's death, but worse. She could practically see the gears churning in his head, and it did not look like things were going in a good direction. When she spoke, her voice sounded feeble even to her. "That's what I've heard, at least, but I haven't told many people about that potential connection. If it even is a connection, with a dead man… You're in the military, at least, so I thought maybe you'd know something more."

"Are you-" He coughed roughly. There was something in his voice that sounded suspiciously close to fear. "Are you familiar with the concept of a homunculus, Miss O'Rielly?"

"Ah!" One more piece fitting into the puzzle. She didn't understand the whole of it, but it was enough to a glimpse of the bigger picture. "Yes, I know about that. A failed human transmutation, right?"

"Correct." He said weakly.

"I see," She mused aloud, mostly for her own benefit. It helped sometimes, to better sort out all pieces of the puzzle. "Homunculi _are_ sentient. They come from the Gate. It might be possible… I mean, where do homunculi go when they die? Maybe back through the other side to Shambala?"

"You're speculating." He said darkly. He did not look particularly pleased with the direction her theory was taking. "Speculation will not be enough to solve this."

"It can't hurt either." She picked up her discarded notebook, glancing at the still incomplete array she'd copied. "I'll send you this when I finish. It's been sent to alchemists already, but perhaps you'll know something more than they did."

"What do you want in return?" He said stiffly. "I'm not going to be indebted to you."

She couldn't say nothing, at least not yet. It was cruel to keep pushing like this, while he was still grieving his loss. But she couldn't show any weakness here, or she'd lose whatever she'd gained by crossing the gate. "Employment. That's what I want. Find me a place to work, I don't care where. I just don't want to work for Hausman anymore."

"The investigation-"

"I'm not finished." She said mildly. "Victor Hausman owns two brothels on 38th street and probably more than that elsewhere. The majority of his money is from human trafficking. Shut them down and you'll be a hero. Parliament will hate it, but they won't once Hausman's assets are dispersed among them. You'll be a hero to the common man, and they're the one's who elect the parliament. And then," She shrugged. "You can take over the investigation yourself if you want. It'll be unorthodox, but no one will gainsay it. All I ask is that you find me a place to go first. On the investigation or not, I don't care. I want to find how did this, but at this point, it'd be easier to do it on my own."

He didn't seem particularly impressed with that statement. "One of my subordinates will meet you with that information tomorrow then, if you bring that drawing with you."

"Of course." She smiled at him, but he did not return the gesture. "I'll be free around one o'clock. If you'll excuse me, I need to finish this before Hausman wants me back. You're welcome to look around the apartment if you'd like, but you'll not find anything useful anymore."

She went back to the bedroom, pencil in hand. He did look around; she hadn't expected him to pass up the opportunity since that was what he'd come here for. If he found anything worthwhile, he said nothing about it to her. A few minutes later, she heard the door click shut again, as Mustang left as quietly as he'd come in.

**-------------------------------------**

In another room, not very far from Lieutenant Hawkeye's former residence, an older woman sat drawing the same array with the ease born of long practiced familiarity. She did not look up when another entered, but continued drawing, the lines flowing from her pen as easily and as delicately as a breath.

"Dante. I'm here."

"My dear Lust," the woman murmured, still not taking her eyes off of her work. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, now. Thank you."

This polite deference pleased her. She had made a good deal of progress in a short amount of time. "Do you feel up to doing a certain task for me, Lust?"

"Of course!" Dante smiled at her exuberance. She ran a hand along the young homunculus' cheek, enjoying the look of contentment on her face. It was something akin to holding a baby, although it had been a long time since she'd had a baby and never in this body.

She released her hand. A look of disappointment crossed the homunculus' face, although it was masked quickly. Lust was very childlike now. It was unlikely she would stay that way.

"I'm very busy, Lust, and I have a great deal of things that require my concentration now. I give this matter to you, because I trust you so much. You are my own dear child, but I miss my other children too. Will you find them for me, Lust? Can you do this task for me?"

"Yes." There was great deal of fervor in her voice. So much the better. "I'd do anything for you, Dante."

"Good." Dante cupped her hands around the homunculus' face and kissed her forehead. "Then do so."


	3. Chapter 2

2

"I heard that girl went missing."

Edward Elric stopped pilfering through the professor's papers long enough to look up at his brother. "What girl?"

"The one Professor Black was using as a translator. You know, she was kind of short, scowled a lot… The one you thought looked like somebody from Amestris."

"Oh yeah. Are you sure she didn't just go home?"

Al pushed aside the door to the professor's study to reveal copious amounts of blood splattered on the floor. "I'm guessing she didn't."

"Jesus!" He dropped the papers and ran over. The study was not a room they had ever been admitted into, but with the woman gone, they were free to check out whatever they wanted. Technically it was breaking in, but Ed was never one to concern himself with technicalities, if it didn't involve alchemy. "There's no body, but…"

"We both know how much blood a human being contains." Al said pointedly.

"Yeah, but you think Black killed her? Neither of them looked like they'd stepped of her library for the past ten years. Still, it's convenient the good professor left for an unscheduled vacation right as her translator goes missing." Ed walked the length of the room, gingerly staying away from the dried blood. "It looks like someone tried to draw a transmutation circle here. It's incomplete but it looks like one for human transmutation."

_Human transmutation… _

"Maybe we should stay awhile, Al."

**--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

Laura had awoken that morning with a terrible crick in her neck. It was to be expected, considering that her bed and home consisted of one park bench. Money was something that was hard to come by, hence the bench. Since Hausman had been paying her under the table, he was free to pay her on whatever schedule he wanted. She had hoped that the pain would go away as the day went on.

It didn't.

If Hausman had noticed she'd been late returning yesterday, he'd said nothing. The translation was hers to deal with, along with most of the murder investigation, as Hausman now had bigger concerns to deal with. The diplomatic representative for the new nation of Ishbal had come in to Amestris, and like most things that passed through Parliament, it had fallen on Hausman's desk. He was a financier in name only.

She was supposed to be working on the translation of Hawkeye's array, which was proving to be damnably hard without any books to help her. Instead, she had been called away to attend on Hausman's meeting with the ambassador. His maid had taken sick. The rumors as to the source of her illness were not pretty.

She hoped Mustang would give him hell.

All she'd had to do was serve tea, and she'd managed to screw that up, although she still wasn't sure how she'd done that. The pot had been warm, at best, when she'd taken it off the burner, but as soon as Hausman took a sip, he practically spat it out across the table. "Curse it, Laura! It's too damn hot!"

She muttered some kind of unfelt apology, while pulling her gloves back on. They'd gone askew, and she didn't want the markings on it being displayed here. He looked livid, but he wouldn't hit her here, not in front of such distinguished guests. Hopefully she wouldn't be around for the aftermath. "I'll bring a cooler pot in a moment."

The incident had been profitable for two reasons, and not just because she'd gotten the fleeting pleasure of seeing Hausman screech like a little girl. She had also gotten a decent look at the Ishbalan delegation, which could be valuable information. She'd seen them before, but only at a distance. The ambassador was a woman, but she couldn't see any of her features. She wore robes, and her face was covered with a veil. At first Laura had thought it was an Ishbalan tradition, but she'd been told that there were no cultural prohibitions on an Ishbalan woman showing her face. Why this one did was a mystery.

The ambassador wasn't much on words, at least not here. Her bodyguard spoke for her. Laura hadn't realized until she'd seen them both in close quarters that the bodyguard was a woman too, and not an Ishbalan either. She had a firm, no-nonsense voice that even Hausman was having trouble dealing with. Her cloak covered her form well, but it was pushed aside slightly at her waist to show that she was armed with a pair of twin handguns.

She wondered how much Mustang would pay for such information. Probably not much. All they were talking about was trade rights and that seemed fairly mundane. She couldn't stay for too long under the pretense of delivering more tea. It was unfortunate, because she did need an alchemist's help if she was to find the Gate and the way home. Mustang quite despised her, but he was receptive to the idea of Equivalent Exchange. It was still possible however that he could renege on his offer. If he did, she needed some information to offer in its place.

Just like Professor Black. After all this, the only way she knew how to act was how the professor had taught her, by battering in information. It was all she had, and it was so little. She murmured some acquiescence to Hausman, which he ignored, and then left out the door, balancing the teapot, which was now cool again. She felt, but didn't see the eyes of the Ishbalan's bodyguard trained squarely on her back.

**-------------------------------------------------------------------------**

It was an unusually busy day within the ordinarily quiet offices of the military. With the Ishbalan delegation in Central, the amount of soldiers in the area had nearly doubled. The Parliament would take no risks where they were involved. There was not going to be a repeat of the Ishbalan War.

The only office that was unaffected by all this hubbub was that of Brigadier General Mustang. It seemed that while the upper echelons of the military were content to give him his old rank back, they were loath to have him act upon it. He was still a war hero, but he had also killed the Fuher, which was frowned upon in most circles, Homunculus or no. They were quite happy to tuck him out of the way, to be docile and blandly ineffective. Until recently, he'd been fairly complacent with that. There was little for him to do now but atone for what he'd done. But now…

_Riza._

He was going to find who murdered her, and he'd be damned if he'd let Victor Hausman and his conniving little junior detective stand in the way of that. The very fact that Hausman had been put charge of such an investigation was suspicious. He had been an officer only briefly in his youth and never in that kind of capacity. He acted as a financier now, and was a major financial backer of the new Parliament. There was no reason at all to have given him a murder investigation.

Money was, of course, the root of all evil. This whole thing reeked of a cover-up.

And then there was the little linguist who fancied herself a detective. She dabbled in a ploy that she couldn't guess the scope of and instead she tried to play children's games with him. He could play along if need be, but he had little patience for it anymore.

There was one piece of information he was interested in gleaning from Laura O'Rielly, but he suspected she wouldn't have any idea of the answer, if she was in fact, a foreigner. Nonetheless, it set him on edge. He'd begun to research it now, even as the paperwork began to pile up about a foot high on his desk. If Riza were here, he'd be facing the barrel of her gun now. He'd never realized how much he would miss that until it was gone.

"What's with the sudden interest in Youswell, Colonel?" Havoc was the only one left with him who still called him colonel. He was back from his tour of duty of supplementing the Ishbalan's guard. He peered over Mustang's desk at the papers scattered across it. "You thinking of heading back East?"

"Hardly." Roy flipped through the binder, tossing a paper across the desk to him. "Do you recognize the girl in that photo?"

Havoc squinted at it, his hand ducking absently into his pocket to pull out a cigarette. "Yoki's lackey, right? I think her name was Laila or Leela or something."

"It was Lyra, actually."

Havoc nodded, then flicked at his lighter, which only sparked uselessly. Roy snapped his fingers without looking up and the second lieutenant took a drag on his newly lit cigarette. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Havoc only gave him a sour look. "Lyra, huh? Have you run out of women in Central so you've got to branch out all the way to Youswell?"

Roy only laughed. If there was a certain amount of bitterness in it, Havoc didn't appear to notice. "Trust me, she's not my type. For that matter, I don't even think she's alive anymore."

"You've got weird taste in women, Colonel."

"Havoc, at this point, women are the least of my concerns." He flipped through a few more pages. His successor in the East had kept decent notes on the Youswell area. There were also report here from Edward; although they were practically illegible, he'd recognize Fullmetal's careless scrawl anywhere. It was all well documented, by Edward and the team that did the final survey of the underground city: the life and death of Dante, who had taken on the form of Lyra of Youswell. "Recently, there's been a young woman running around Central who looks very much like that. And it seems I've struck up a bargain with her.

" She's not from Amestris, you can tell that the minute you talk with her. She wears gloves all the time for no reason, she's got huge glasses, and her hair is rather unkempt, but discounting those things, physically, she is the double of Dante. It's the investigator from Hausman's case."

Havoc snorted. "You call that an investigation?"

"Not really since, they're both incompetent. But the girl may have information I can use. When I spoke with her yesterday, she referenced Shambala, and the only time I've heard that word before was when Edward came back from the other side of the Gate last year."

"You think this kid knows about the Gate?"

He shrugged. "Who knows? If she does know something, or Hausman has access to the otherworld, I want to know about it. As it is, I do owe her a favor. Go meet with this kid and find some kind of a job for her, somewhere where she can be under surveillance easily."

"Will do. Anything else, Colonel?"

He glanced down at his paperwork. This wasn't official business, but it would be soon. "I've got a tip from her that Victor Hausman's been running a human trafficking operation out of his basement. So far it's been working out. I want you, Fuery, and Falman to check it out. Hopefully the military will soon be taking care of this investigation, the way it should be done."

"Colonel," Havoc said slowly, like he was weighing his options out. "It might work out better if you left the whole thing to somebody else. I know you don't like it, but Hawkeye wouldn't want you to…obsess over how she died, or to lose everything you've got now by doing something-"  
"Something stupid, you mean?" Havoc looked chagrined and started to shake his head. "Don't worry about me. I'm not doing anything unnecessary. Riza would have wanted justice."

"You got a weird idea of justice too, Colonel." Havoc shook his head, but he smiled as he walked out.

**--------------------------------------------------------**

"Envy." If it was possible, Lust sounded exasperated. "Why are you here? Dante designated this task for me."

Lust was not particularly fond of Envy. He was a loudmouth at the best of times, unsubtle, rude, and he had a fetish for knives and bloodletting. Unlike the previous Envy, he preferred to keep his original form, which was highly recognizable in certain circles, one of which she was trying to infiltrate. It was just as well that they were on top of a roof overlooking the street, hidden from view, or she'd be forced to take certain actions to get him out of here.

"Hey, I'm on the job too. It seems," he drawled, "That our paths have coincided on this. So you do your thing and I'll do mine, and it'll work out for both of us."

She didn't take her eyes off of her view of the street. There was a café below them. The one she was supposed to keep an eye on was down there, reading a very large book. "What are you talking about, Envy?"

"Without the Fullmetal pipsqueak around, Dante's been taking an interest in a certain other alchemist. I'm not planning on interfering with your thing. You've got a very different job than me, Lust." He took out one of his knives and toyed with it, running his tongue along the side, eying her. He did it to shock her; he loved to try it and see if she still shocked like a human still, as the youngest of the homunculi.

She didn't. Lust didn't bat an eye. She just kept watching for her own task. "You do your job and I'll do mine. Just don't get in my way when the time comes."

"I wouldn't dream of doing otherwise." He leaned over, surveying the view, grinning. "I'll take the guy and you'll take the girl, huh? How very coincidental that their paths have crossed too. Does this make you feel nostalgic, Lust?"

Envy liked to pretend that he had memories of his past life, before he had become a homunculus. He didn't really; he knew nothing beyond what Dante had told him, which wasn't much. Still, he liked to rub it in and pretend that he knew more than her. It didn't bother her; she knew Dante's reasons for this were her own. "I don't feel anything." She said flatly, and she didn't say anything more.

**----------------------------------------------------**

_Musa, mihi causas memora, quo numine laeso/ quidve dolens, regina deum tot volvere casus/ insignem pietate virum, tot adire labores/ impulerit. Tantaene animis caelestibus irae?_

_Tell me, Muse, what was the wound to her divinity? Was it so painful that she, the queen of the gods, forced a man so remarkable for piety to endure so many crises and trials? Can such resentment hold the minds of gods?_

It was all so wonderful and hideously random and pointless that a mirthless laugh tore out of Laura's throat, her head in her hands while a few people stared at her for laughing like a crazy woman. Somebody up there was laughing at her, or possibly messing with her head. She didn't know what she had been expecting with the translation. It was naive to think that it would be something blatant, like a confession or something, but part of her had hoped for it. What she'd gotten instead was some Latin scholar's cruel joke.

The words inside the transmutation circle around Riza Hawkeye were merely the second stanza of Virgil's Aeneid. The Aeneid was the first major work she'd translated, way back in high school. The words inside Heymans Breda's circle had landed in her hands today, and it too was something she'd done once before, a poem by Ovid. Neither of those works existed in this world. It was all carefully done, nothing she wasn't familiar with or beyond her ability to translate. It was like someone was throwing the gauntlet down.

It seemed Vittoria might not be as far away as she'd thought.

Vittoria. She could call her by her first name now, when she'd never been able to before. It seemed murder has afforded them a certain intimacy they never had from spending every day working together. It was Vittoria who had orchestrated everything against Ed and Al and she had been the one to send her to this world.

_Vittoria,_ _it's unlike you to taunt arbitrarily. Are you really in this world?_

What would she tell Mustang? That his friend had died for a joke? Just so Vittoria could have the pleasure of taunting her? It was so pointless. What Laura had done yesterday was bad enough. She didn't want to do anything more to add to his grief. She didn't like being cruel.

"Hey! Are you awake or what?"

That brought her back to reality. She was still in the café, and she'd fallen in a sort of slump over her books. In front of her table was a soldier in uniform. Mustang's subordinate, right on time. "Laura O'Rielly, I presume?"

"Yes, sorry!" She jumped back up in her seat and pushed her glasses back up by the bridge, a hopelessly nerdy gesture that she regretted as soon as she'd done it. It would have been better if she could at least pretend to be in control. "General Mustang sent you, right?"

"Yeah. Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc." A waiter neared the table, menu in hand, but he waved him off. Havoc didn't look inclined to stay long. "Did you bring the translation?"

"Yes." She passed it across the table to him. It was a fair copy, the design of the circle above, Latin on one side, and the English translation next to it. "It didn't come out like I thought it would. It's gibberish practically, I don't think he'll understand…" She looked down, realizing she was rambling. "There's no useful information there. Tell him I'm sorry. He doesn't need to keep his side of the bargain since I've failed mine."

When she'd looked up, she saw that he was studying her quite intently, like he'd seen her before. He glanced down at the papers for a moment. "I don't know about that. What you've written here looks clear enough for me and maybe Mustang'll get something out of it. Besides, I've got orders to give you some kind of a job. It looks like your tip on Hausman is working out, so you probably won't have a job there soon enough. Better get out while you still can, eh?"

Interesting. He was studying her, and she was doing the same right back at him. She was curious about Mustang's men. They were the same crew that had followed him to uprise against the Fuher, and they stayed with him even in disgrace. What did he do to inspire that kind of loyalty? All over Central, there were stories of people who had dedicated their lives to helping Mustang become Fuher, a plan which had failed spectacularly when he assassinated him, but those who were left alive stayed with him. What kind of person was he anyway?

"Can you cook?" Havoc said abruptly.

She blinked. That was not a question she'd expected. "Not really. I mean, all I can make is spaghetti, that's it. But I'd learn how to do it if it would get me a new job!"

"Hey, that's great. If this works out, I'll be killing two birds with one stone. Maybe even three birds. This is going to be a pretty big stone."

She had no idea what that meant, but she smiled anyway. "So I've got a job?"

"Sure you do. You're going to cook for General Mustang."

Her mouth dropped. "You're joking, right?"

"Why would I be joking? You're supposed to get a job, right? Well, that's a job."

"Did he think this up?"

"Mustang? Nah, this wasn't his idea. He just told me to find you something. Me and Fuery thought this up. The colonel's got a vested interest in you-"

_Which meant he wanted more information._

"-in case Hausman's pissed or anything, you need to be safe-"

_Which meant she needed to be watched._

"And you do need a job."

_Two valid reasons. What's the third?_

"Look," he leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered his voice a register. "Some of us around the office have been getting worried about the colonel. Ever since Hawkeye died, he's been kind of…off. We understand, and we feel the same, but if he keeps going in this direction, he'll run himself into the ground. I don't think he's eaten anything since this started. You're here, and you need a job, so we figured we'd work on this one step at a time. All you need to do is go in, cook a breakfast and a dinner, and make sure he's not doing anything stupid."

"Anything…stupid?" She said, feeling woefully out of the loop. When she'd asked for a job, this was _not_ what she'd expected or wanted.

"Something like human transmutation stupid."

"I'm sorry," she said, now feeling very stupid herself. "But I'm not an alchemist. I have no idea what that would look like."

"Trust me, you'll know it when you see it." He said darkly. "Every alchemist thinks about it when they lose someone. If you happen to see something suspicious like that around his house, you need to tell someone else on Mustang's staff. There's a huge price you pay for messing with stuff like that and toying with the dead, and we're not going to have the colonel pay that. No matter what it is, nothing's worth that."

His men were intensely loyal. Women too. There seemed to be no middle ground with Mustang; people either loved him or hated him. There was no indifference, no soft, muted feelings. Except maybe for her. She seemed to be an exception to most things.

"I can't cook much of anything. Every time I try, it always burns, or comes out too soft, or explodes. Something always goes wrong. And I feel uncomfortable being asked to spy on my employer."

"Isn't that what you're doing now?" He said dryly.

It was, and she flushed a little. "General Mustang and I are also not on the best of terms.

"All you've got to do is make two meals a day and stick them in front of him. He can eat it or not, that's not you're problem. Just having it there for him gets the ball rolling. I have the feeling he goes home from work and just sits there until it's time for him to go back to work again." There wasn't any mirth in that statement, only sadness. "I don't expect it'll matter to you, but he used to be a whole lot different."

"It matters." She was surprised to hear that she meant that. She didn't even like Mustang. What she said next surprised her more. "I'll do it. But I have the feeling we'll both regret it."

"Nah." Havoc grinned. "It'll be fun. The colonel loves kids."

She was beginning to emphasize with Ed and all those short jokes. Poor kid.

AN: I actually started this fic before I saw the movie, I had only read a few summaries of it. Of course, when I finally did see the movie, I saw that an alternate version of Dante/Lyra does appear briefly during the movie set scene. At this point, chronology-wise, it would mess things up to include her (not that this isn't already messed up chronology anyways). So basically, if you see another glaring mistake like that, a wizard did it.

I also should be a good little scholar and cite my sources. The Latin text is by Virgil, the translation I have here is a rough paraphrase that of Allen Mandelbaum's. It is not a word for word translation of the Latin text. It's been a long time since I've taken Latin, and unfortunately, I've forgotten most of it. Again, errors in Latin are also caused by the aforementioned wizard.

Next chapter: Mustang gets a rude awakening, and the Ishbalan ambassador starts making house calls.


	4. Chapter 3

3

Laura had never really gotten any orders beyond an address or a start date for her new job. She simply showed up the next day at General Mustang's house at 7 am, instead of going to Hausman's manse. She did not bother to tell him that she would not be going back there again. It wasn't like she was expecting a recommendation out of him anyway.

She had knocked when she'd gotten there, but no one answered. Havoc had told her to expect as much. This had to be, without a doubt, the strangest job she'd had yet. There was no sign of the general; it was entirely possible he was still asleep or not here at all. Havoc had only said just make something and stick it in front of him… this was starting to seem like the most pointless job ever.

The Brigadier General's apartment was aesthetically messy. It was better furnished than she would have expected for a bachelor, but it looked like papers and books were simply pushed aside rather than put away, and small colonies of dust bunnies had taken up residence in the corners and under furniture. There was a fireplace with a few pictures on the mantle, but she felt like enough of an intruder that she did not go over to investigate and went to her task. The sooner she finished here, the sooner she could leave, at least until 6 o'clock rolled around.

The main problem with Havoc's plan was that Mustang refrigerator was utterly devoid of food. There were empty cartons everywhere, the milk had become something akin to cottage cheese, and there was a mysterious spill on the back of one of the shelves that several things were stuck in. There were only two things in there that looked edible, a carton of eggs and a container of baking soda. She settled on the eggs.

Eggs were easy enough. She had never made them before, preferring cereal, but she had a vague idea of how to go about cooking them. There were dishes piled up in the sink, but she managed to locate a clean skillet. The stove was gas and she couldn't get it to light. She scowled as she tried to search for a match. Of course, she had managed to find the one person who didn't need to keep matches in his house. He probably lit the stove by snapping at it every morning.

She found a lone matchbook in the same drawer as the silverware. There was a grinning little demon on the front that boasted it was from The Devil's Nest. There was one match left, which was just enough for her to light the burner before the whole place filled up with gas. In a few minutes, the eggs were cooking up nicely, with a pleasant sizzling sound. She smiled; for once, she'd done something right.

She turned around to go find a plate, when a door at the top of the stairs opened and a yawning Mustang emerged, his hair tousled from sleep. He was also wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. She almost dropped the pan. At the sound of the noise, his fingers moved to snap, but without his gloves on, nothing happened. When he saw it was her, he looked furious. "What the hell are you doing here!"

"Why aren't you wearing clothes when you've got a guest in the house?" She yelled, trying to keep her eyes on the floor. There were a few scars scattered across his torso, the largest and deepest on his left shoulder, but he was still damnably good looking. _Eyes on the floor… _"I was told I'm supposed to feed you indefinitely. Havoc said you'd take breakfast at 7:30."

He made an aggravated sigh and disappeared without another word. She pushed the newspapers aside to clear a place for the plate, trying to get that image out of her head or she'd never be able to face him with a straight face again. The eggs looked all right, so she put them onto the plate, which was looking pretty bare without anything else on it besides eggs. It needed bacon or sausage or something. She had no idea of what she could do for dinner. The only thing left was baking soda.

Mustang reappeared in a few minutes in full uniform and plopped down onto a table chair. He looked down at the plate. "What _is_ this?"

"Eggs, scrambled."

"I know what eggs are!" He snapped, the rubbed the back of his head with another irritated sigh. "What the hell was Havoc thinking? When I said I wanted you to have a job, I didn't mean it was supposed to be with me. I don't need a cook."

"No, you really need a cleaning lady, but that's not in my job description." She watched him poke the eggs with a fork suspiciously. "It's not like I'm going to poison you. If I did that, then I'd be out of a job again. They're good for you. You really should eat something, since it's here."

He gave her a surly look, but picked up his fork and took a bite. He chewed thoughtfully, and then…stopped. The look on his face was priceless. She stared. "What? What's wrong?"

"I just remembered something." She looked horrified as he spat out his food into a napkin. "Those eggs were two months old."

So much for success. "Well, what do you expect when you don't keep any food in your house?" She wanted to stay angry, but it was hard when he had such a funny look on his face after eating those eggs. "Unless you want baking soda for dinner, you should get some groceries, or let me get some, at any rate."

"I don't suppose there's any way out of this?" He grumbled.

She did consider that for a moment, but then shook her head. "No. I made a deal with Mr. Havoc. I gave my word that I'd stick with it."

"Your loyalty to your employer is impressive." He said sardonically. She gave him a tightlipped smile, but the pan that she was putting in the sink went done with a little more force than was necessary, Apparently he'd inadvertently struck a nerve. He got up and walked to his desk in the living room, tearing off a sheet of paper from a notebook. "This is the address of the grocer. I'll give you a note. Get whatever you want, put it on my tab, and tell him I'll settle up the bill at the end of the week."

She nodded and took it. "Anything else?"

"Please try not to poison my dinner too."

"I'll try." She said dryly. "But I make no guarantees."

----------------------------

"Enjoy your breakfast?" Havoc grinned.

Somewhere behind the pile of paperwork on his desk, Mustang rolled his eyes. "Havoc, it isn't that I'm not _touched_ that you're so concerned for my welfare, but why did you see the need to hire me a cook?"

"What, you don't like it? Heck, if my girlfriend didn't make such good omelets, I would have taken her myself."

There was a time when Roy Mustang would have been grievously offended that Jean Havoc had a girlfriend and he did not. At the moment, he was far beyond caring about any of that. "If the girl could actually cook, that might not be such a bad idea, although I would still prefer that you not monitor my food intake like a mother hen. But not only can she not cook," He muttered, signing off on his papers with a vengeance. "But she seems hell bent on bothering me, which would be fine in small doses, but not every morning and evening."

"I thought you were a subscriber to the policy of keeping your friends close and your enemies even closer. You said you wanted her under surveillance easily. I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone there. Sometimes people get comfortable in a situation, maybe they say some things they might not have before. If you think she knows something about Hawkeye's death, just wait a while and she'll probably fold. She looks like she could be honest in the right circumstances. Oh, and about that investigation, everything she said about Hausman checks out. When should we move on that?"

"Soon." He put his pen down and glanced at the newspaper someone had placed on the edge of his desk. The front page had a sizable picture of the Ishbalan delegation speaking before Parliament. Somewhere in that crowd was Victor Hausman. "I need to plan it around the Ishbalans. All of Amestris is on alert with them here. I've got enough bad press with them as it is without getting in their way now."

Fuery burst into the room, looking agitated. "General Mustang! There's somebody here to see you- and I told her to wait, but she won't-"

A puff of perfume hit him before the actual visitor appeared. The Ishbalan ambassador came up behind Fuery, tapping him lightly on the shoulder, pushing him aside. "Thank you, Sergeant. I did say I could see myself in."

Mustang stood up, trying to hide his surprise that the ambassador had practically forced her way into his office. Havoc slinked quietly out behind them. "Madame Ambassador. How can I be of service?"

"I wanted to meet you." He had the impression that she was smiling, slightly, but her veil was very effectively concealing her expression. Her tone was otherwise neutral. This was an anomaly. The ambassador's first visit to Central was carefully orchestrated by both governments to fall out in a way that was pleasing to both of them. This office visit was a long way off from that schedule. "You don't look as I'd expected."

He murmered something of an oblique apology. It was protocol only. "Do you have some kind of business here, ma'am?"

"I had expected you would look a little less like a man defeated as you are."

His finger twitched slightly. It was the closest he came to reacting and he regretted doing that much. She watched the reaction with interest. "Still, having seen you is not a total disappointment. I wanted to meet you." Her voice dropped to a low, harsh whisper. "I wanted to see the man who slaughtered my people so efficiently."

She trailed a finger delicately on the edge of his desk. "Fire is wonderfully efficient, is it not? It leaves no trace. Nothing but ash, teeth, and bone. It must be easily forgotten when there is no evidence left behind."

Ishbal haunted him even now. The smell of burning flesh, a baby's piercing wail, the knowledge of the murders that he had committed… But he couldn't bring those words to his lips, not with this woman in front of him. She was out for blood, although she was about three years too late. The Flame Alchemist was just a title now.

"Do you ever regret having become so wonderfully ineffective?"

There was something very off about all of this. It hit him in an instant. "Madame Ambassador, where is your bodyguard?"

----------------------------

"Do you freelance?"

Laura looked up, surprised. She had gotten into the library of Central intending to study up on alchemy. This was the last place she had expected to be bothered and the last person too. "You're that woman's bodyguard…"

"Do you freelance?" She repeated, as though Laura had not spoken. "Do you translate on the side?"

"I'm working for General Mustang now at the moment, although that probably won't last too long." She wondered what the hell this was about. Was Hausman behind this? There were easier ways of getting her attention that subverting a member of the Ishbalan delegation. "Did you need something?"

"That depends on what you can do." The woman shrugged, and Laura saw the metal of her guns flash at her waist, a warning to tread carefully. "My lady was told that you seem to know a language that no one else understands. She merely wished to confirm it. You've found what the words inscribed around those murdered soldiers meant?"

She nodded, slowly. Her hand had gone to move her stack of books toward her, so the titles faced away from this woman. "I might, but that information is classified. I can't divulge anything about that."

"We have diplomatic immunity."

"I'm not much on politics, ma'am, but I'm not sure how any of this may be of concern to the nation of Ishbal."

She titled her head slightly, a gesture that seemed both mocking and condescending in one blow. "That's the ambassador's concern, not mine. Apparently in Ishbal, there's something she wishes to have translated, something similar to what Hausman had you working on. She merely wished to inquire into your services. Nothing more, nothing less."

There was something wrong about this. Whatever it was, she didn't want to be involved. "I'm not interested. I've got my own work to do."

The bodyguard had pushed her hood aside ever so slightly. The look in her eye was a scathing warning glance, and that was not the only reason it was frightening. Her eye was an impossible shade of violet. Laura sucked in her breath sharply. She recognized that profile, or at least it felt like she did.

_Impossible!_

"We'll give you some time to reconsider things." She went on talking like Laura hadn't completely paled in terror. Her hood was pulled back, obscuring her features once again. "And then I'll return. I hope you have a better answer then."

She managed to get something out of her mouth, but it was a very paltry attempt at bravery. "I have the right to chose who and how I will work. If you're threatening me, then my employer will-"

"It is the general consensus around here that Brigadier General Mustang is not fond of his new little cook. I doubt he'd come to your rescue." Laura but her lip; it was true. If she turned up dead in a ditch the next day, she doubted that Mustang would give a heel. He certainly wouldn't be launching any investigations on her behalf with only the memory of runny, expired eggs to spur him on. "The ambassador has no intention of threatening anyone. When you comply, it will be of your own free will." She gave her a stiff half-salute. "Good day, little translator."

She sat back in her chair after the bodyguard had gone out of her sight, exhaling heavily. She had been unaware that she'd been holding her breath in almost the entire time. That had been strangely frightening, and she couldn't pinpoint exactly what had made it that way. It didn't matter. She breathed in and out. She didn't need to be afraid. No one could force her to do anything. No one…

She moved back to her books. Work would calm her down. She had a mission on her hands already, and it didn't involve Ishbal. Her hand brushed against something unexpected on the top of the stack. When she pulled it down, she saw that it was a photograph. A photo of… herself?

It looked like her, but it wasn't her at all. She'd never worn that dress in her entire life. The girl in the photo was her double, but there were little things about her that were off. She wore a haughty expression on her face, and her eyes shone with a calculated sense of cruelty.

_It's not me! It's can't be!_

The Ishbalan's bodyguard had placed it there; she must have. She turned over the photograph, her hand trembling. Someone had labeled the back in block letters.

_Dante, 1914._

Next chapter: Exposition!Mustang makes an appearance as a various secrets are revealed.

Big thank yous to my three reviewers! Thanks especially for reviewing during the interim period between chapters. It really jump started me into working on this again. It's kind of ironic that I did more work on this when I was in college than in the summertime, but now that my summer job has eneded, I should be getting back in gear again!


	5. Chapter 4

4

Laura rushed through the halls of Central's military headquarters. She was trying to find General Mustang as fast as she could without calling too much attention to herself. The encounter with the ambassador's bodyguard had badly shaken her, and jolted her, at last, into action. There was a connection between that, and Hausman, and the murders, and it was quickly escalating into something even more dangerous than a string of serial killings. And there was Vittoria as well whose specter loomed over all of it.

Laura needed to tell Mustang the truth, at least most of it. He deserved that much, and at this point, it was dangerous for him not to know.

She found his office in a nearly deserted annex of the military HQ. She had tried to push her way through, but a youngish looking man in glasses jumped up to get in her way. "Miss! Excuse me, you can't just-"

"I need to see General Mustang!"

"Fuery," She could hear Mustang's irritated drawl coming from the other side of the door. "Why is it that everyone has suddenly seen it fit to simply burst into my office today? Honestly, it's been like a zoo in here. Who is it now?" He opened the door and she saw his expression change as soon as he saw her. "Miss O'Rielly. I thought dinner wasn't until six?"

"General Mustang," She wished her voice didn't sound so damn fearful. "There's something important you should know. I don't think it should wait."

Next to her, Fuery looked shocked all of the sudden, as he'd just gotten a good look at her. "She looks just like-"

"Yes, she does like an awful lot like my cousin Muriel, but that's no reason to stare, Fuery." He said briskly. "Step into my office please, Miss O'Rielly."

"It's alright. I know who I look like." She said flatly. The ambassador's guard had seen it fit to enlighten her on that. Why Mustang wanted her to remain in ignorance was a mystery, but not a particularly pressing one.

"I see." His expression was quite unfathomable. He turned away for a moment to hold the door open for her. "Come on in."

She had waited to talk until the door clicked shut behind them, but Mustang beat her to the punch. "What will I owe you for this, O'Rielly? As I recall, you do not give information for free."

She had enough pride left to flush hotly. "I don't want anything, damn it! I don't like twisting people's arms backward just to get something I need. I only do what I can to get by! I just realized something I should have said earlier. I'd thought it was impossible, but lately every single thing I thought was impossible has come true, so there's no reason why this shouldn't either. But if you'd prefer I go and say nothing, then by all means, I will!"

"Stay." His tone left no room for further argument. "What is it?"

"I think I know who is behind Lieutenant Hawkeye's murder."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Go on."

"I told you that the country where I'm from, there was a similar case with children as the victims. The professor, the woman I worked for before Hausman had something to do with it. I think it's the same now, only she's taking pains to get my attention. All of the texts I gave you yesterday were things I'd translated before while working with her."

"Forgive me," He said, a little stiffly. "But if you are aware that you are the double of Dante, then there's no need for you to maintain the pretense that you're from this world. If you want me to believe you, you may as well lay all of your cards down on the table now. And, if you expect me to believe that this professor is the mastermind behind two elaborate, unfathomable sets of serial killings in two different worlds- well, you've got to offer something more than that. How did you, of all people, end up here, when there are experienced alchemists who can't even breech the barrier?"

"I don't remember."

"Surely you can come up with a better excuse than that-"

"I don't remember!" He looked briefly taken aback, and she was suddenly aware that she'd shouted. Without realizing it, her hands had tightened into fists, the nails biting into her palms. She breathed in, deeply. "The professor wouldn't have come by the same route I did. She wouldn't risk that. She's much too careful."

The girl was afraid. That much was obvious, and she was doing a very poor job of hiding it, putting that flash of anger aside. "What route?" He said softly. It was not exactly subtle, but he had to keep her talking now that he was so close to finding out.

"I believe she tried to kill me." She murmured. "I hadn't thought her capable of murder before even with all the evidence mounting. It just one more thing I was wrong about. That's what I remember before I found myself here in Shambala, or Amestris, rather."

_Vittoria never tries. She always succeeds. Who are you trying to fool exactly?_

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" It was surprising that Mustang was carrying on such a comparatively gentle interrogation. She had expected worse.

"Did you go to the military and tell them that King Bradley was a homunculus before you confronted him?"

That had caught him off guard; she saw shock flash across his face, which was quickly masked. "No." He said. His expression was hard.

"That's why. I didn't have any evidence, only suspicions. I wanted to prove it to myself first. I thought I could figure it out before anything happened, but that was a stupid idea. I'm not an alchemist, and I can't fight or anything like that. I don't know why there are child victims in one world and soldiers in the other, but-" She looked up suddenly as one more piece of the puzzle slid into place. "The Ishbalan ambassador's been here, hasn't she?"

This time he didn't bother to hide his surprise. "She forced her way in here fifteen minutes ago. How did you know that?"

"She wears a heavy perfume. I smelled it at Hausman's place yesterday, and it's here too. What did she want with you?"

"To trade accusations about the Ishbalan war. She didn't really have any purpose in coming here. Her bodyguard-"

"-Was with me in the library trying to browbeat me into translating something in Ishbal for her!" She looked excited all of the sudden. "It's all connected, don't you see? There's Latin in Ishbal! The only Latin in this world has been from Vittoria, trying to get my attention. Bloody hell, it's like she's throwing the gauntlet down!"

Riza's death as some kind of bizarre challenge… God, there were so many things that were terribly wrong with that he didn't know where to begin. It might have been better if it were some random quirk of fate. "You're saying she killed Riza and the others for your sake?"

"No." She shook her head quickly. "I don't think so. But she wants me to be involved somehow. I think I know what she's trying, but it's horrible. It's worse than murder."

"_Tell me_." There was an intensity there, a hunger for revenge that was almost frightening to see. "Whatever it is, tell me! Tell me everything about this woman, whatever her motives are, I need to know."

She hesitated for just a moment, but once she started talking, the words wouldn't stop. "Vittoria Black was… is, a respected professor, a linguist, but she's delved a little into politics as well. Her husband was a member of the House of Lords in Parliament, so she married into money. He died young, so she got all of that for her own soon enough.

"The whole reason she hired me was because she knew my father; they were both academic types. She was beginning to start some new study, and she wanted me to translate some things she had left over from her last one. She was kind to me, for the most part. She could be cruel sometimes, with other people, almost thoughtlessly, and ruthless if she didn't get what she wanted. I'd heard from people who knew her better that she'd changed somehow about three years ago, but I never knew her before then."

Three years ago. That was roughly when most of the homunculi and Dante had been defeated. He made a mental note of it, but didn't interrupt to add the information. Whether or not it was relevant was yet to be seen, but he had the sinking feeling it was.

"Then all those children started dying and Scotland Yard contracted Vittoria to translate the Latin in the circles. I saw some of the pictures of the crime scenes, but not long enough to figure out what they said. Seven children were killed in a month, and then it all died down. We were distracted anyway, with all the hubbub going on in Germany. I know the government contacted her a couple of times, but she would never say why. Then those two boys showed up, saying they were going to help her find some kind of new weapon. I had thought at the time that Vittoria was delving into the occult, but now I'd say it was alchemy, and those two boys were alchemists. One of them even had those metal prosthetics you have here-"

"Fullmetal." He said wonderingly. "You met Fullmetal and Al?"

"Is that what you call him? Because of his arm and leg? I only knew him as Edward."

"Ed." He shook his head, but he was smiling, ever so slightly. "I should have known he'd be involved somewhere in this. What were they working on?"

She relaxed slightly, pleased she'd said something right for once. "Whatever they were doing, they kept the details to themselves. We even went to the cinema together once, and I couldn't get a word out of either of them. Every time I'd try, Ed would start to tell some crazy story about roaming the countryside, righting wrongs and doing magic. I thought he'd just been reading too many novels, but now that I've come here, I guess most of his stories were probably true."

"You would be wise to take most of Fullmetal's stories with a grain of salt. His lack of height has somehow contributed to a tendency of gross exaggerations."

It took her a minute to realize that he was joking. It hadn't actually occurred to her that he might have a sense of humor. She finally laughed a second later. "If he heard that, he would scream at you. He's very sensitive about his height, or lack thereof."

"I'm well aware." He smirked like it was the punch line to an old joke. It faded quickly. "You don't know anything else about what they were doing?"

"No. All I gathered was that it was for the government and the war effort, and alchemy was involved. They had an argument with Vittoria, about a week before I came here to Amestris, and I didn't see Al or Ed after that. Them she set me back on surveillance. Vittoria would do what Hausman used to do with me. She'd bring to a party or some other gathering and leave me there to listen in on people and observe as a second pair of eyes, and then afterwards I'd tell her what I'd heard. She said it was because I was good at being unobtrusive, and I'm forgettable looking. With what I told her, and what she already had on her own, I think she had a good deal of Parliament in her pocket. Whatever she was doing, they were afraid of it.

"And then I found out that she knew one of the murdered children; and then that she was acquaintances with some of the other kid's family's. And she had always had designs on her desk after Edward and Alphonse came by, all sorts of alchemic arrays. Some of them were even similar to the ones used by the children. I went to confront her, and that was it."

"That's it?" He said incredulously.

"That's all there is."

"That's all there is, or that's all you're going to tell? How did she send you here? Why did she try to kill you?"

"I can't-"

There was a polite knock on the door, and Havoc peeked in. "Sorry to interrupt, colonel, but I thought you'd want to know that a summons from the prime minister just came in for you. Dunno what it's for, but it's urgent."

"Just my lucky day." He muttered. "If you'll excuse me, Miss O'Rielly, we'll finish this later."

"There's on more thing." She said quietly. He was already out of his seat and halfway to the door, but he stopped dead. She didn't need to look up to see the curious expression on Havoc's face. "I don't know why those children died, but I think I know why the soldiers are. She's trying to do something with homunculi. I realized the connection in the library. One of the last things she said to me-"

She remembered Vittoria's face above her, her mouth moving, but the words were lost. She had been near to losing consciousness then anyway. There was only one thing that was still clear.

"She told me I could call her Dante."

He nodded a moment later, his expression well guarded. "Thank you, Laura. Havoc, take down whatever she can tell about this woman, Vittoria Black, and get her description out by the usual channels, but be discrete. I'll take care of the rest when I get back from whatever the prime minister wants."

"Yes, sir." Havoc slid into the seat across from her, pen in hand, as Mustang disappeared out the door. "Good to see you again, kid. You heard the boss. Give me everything you've got on this Vittoria person."

AN: Big thank you to Kawaii-Nekochan88 for reminding me that I still have a fic to write!


	6. Chapter 5

5

The new prime minister of Amestris had not been a member of the military in recent times; he had long since retired and thus had the prestige of rank without the taint of massacres like Ishbal. He had been democratically elected, more or less, by the members of Parliament. His swearing in ceremony was open to the public, and, for the first time, without the assembled forces of Amestris' military in attendance. So far, he had garnered a reputation as a kindly old man who loved children, kept the military at arm's length, and governed benignly and blandly, which suited the public just fine. With his reputation, an officer like Mustang was just the kind of person he would want to stay away from.

The prime minister's secretary greeted him, informed him that the minister would be with him shortly, and offered him some tea in the meantime. Her quiet unobtrusive manner was reminiscent of Juliet Douglas and it was enough to put him ill at ease already. She left him and went back to her desk down the hall, with only the sound of her typing to remind him of her presence.

It was a moment later before the prime minister himself appeared, peering out of his office door like a child hiding. He cocked his head quizzically at the general, and then glared at him, looking every bit a cantankerous curmudgeon. "Who the hell are you? Did I invite you here? Well, get in here, I suppose beggars can't be choosers. Come on, get in!"

The prime minister was older than any acting official in Amestris. He was elected to be an unofficial interim minister to hold and restore order while a better, more long-term candidate could be found. What they had apparently neglected to realize in doing so was that he was also apparently senile.

Or perhaps not. The old man gave him a quick wink, and Mustang saw intelligence shining in his eyes. "Go on, come on in! Just let me find my glasses so I can have a look at you." He shut the door behind them and offered a hand, which Mustang shook after a moment's hesitation. "Well done, general! One would think you were quite bemused by all that. I hadn't expected you'd play along so well."

He was surprisingly, enjoying this, although he had no idea of what was going on. "To be fair, sir, I'm not sure what exactly I was playing along with."

"Oh, appearances are everything around here. At this rate, they'll be saying I'm losing my wits before dinnertime and no one will give this meeting a second thought. It's one of the advantages of being old. I would prefer, for now, not to have this taken for what it is." He sat at his desk, templing his fingers. Yes, William Heinrik was a canny man. It was most unexpected. "Appearances aside, I am pleased to meet you at last, General Mustang. My old colleagues in the East have said much about you. Some it's actually praise, if you can believe that these days. Please forgive my façade, but in order for both of us to get what we want, it would be better to keep up the act that our meeting is simply your way of humoring an old man. It seems," He smiled slightly. "That we have a friend or two in common."

"I'm not sure-"

"Your cook. I have not met the young lady in question, but it seems that certain tongues are wagging that there's some mysterious language that only she seems to know. Rather cliché, don't you think? Incidentally, Victor Hausman is minded to lodge a complaint against you. He claims you've stolen his translator. I advised him against it, as Amestris does not condone indentured servitude and the young lady is free to seek employment where she will. A very simple matter, easily resolved. However, things could get dicey if you were to intervene directly at this point, which was why I called you here."

Heinrik tapped his phone slightly. "I happened to receive a call a short while ago telling me that Hausman's gang was investigating an incident in the church on 28th street. Apparently, a priest and a petty officer were killed and some text was scrawled upon the altar. There's certainly information that's pertinent to those serial killings in there, yet Hausman lacks a translator. What a terrible little conundrum that is, don't you think?"

----------------------------

"It shouldn't be far now…" Havoc muttered, shifting down a gear as the car entered the middle of a traffic jam before the church. He glanced over to the passenger side to see Laura O'Rielly bent over, her head nearly touching the floor. "What's with you, kid?"

"Sorry." Her voice sounded muffled. "I saw Mr. Hausman back there. He's going in the opposite directing, but I'd just rather not be seen."

"Good thinking." He glanced around with a critical eye to the street. So far it looked like Hausman's investigatory team (although calling it that much was a stretch) had cleared out of the area. He wasn't sure what the cause of such a quick getaway would be. "This whole thing is weird. I'd feel better if the general were here. I don't like this whole anonymous tipster thing. Still, if this pays off, I guess Mustang'll be happy."

"I don't know if it will." The girl spoke up. "This is kind of a switch in the pattern. I hope it's a break for us though. I started with Lieutenant Hawkeye's death, and I want to finish this."

"Why are you so interested in who killed Hawkeye anyway?"

She looked a little surprised that he asked that. "Because it's the right thing to do."

He laughed slightly. "Sounds like idealistic jargon to me."

"Whatever gets you through the day." She said, eyeing his cigarette.

He shook his head, saying nothing more. It was a few minutes later before he got close enough to beep his way through the rest of the traffic and park the car by the back entrance. She hopped out of the car and ran for the door. "The caller said we had to be fast, right? Let's go!"

"You can't just run into these things like that!" He reached for his holster and ran in after her. "Man, no wonder Mustang thinks you're a kid!"

He found her inside musing to herself, standing before the altar, carefully avoiding the two chalk outlines where the bodies had lain. "They've never done two people at once before. And what's more, this is crude work. I don't think Vittoria would…"

He looked at the words on the altar, but shook his head. "Well, I sure hope you can understand this, because I sure as hell can't." He glanced down at the chalk outline to see another circle surrounding a small throwing knife. He turned it over in his hand, examining it. "What do you make of this?"

"Yes, it's very crude. The cases are all wrong. This is just bad Latin. It's not Vittoria's work. Either this is a very bad copycat, or her flunkies are slacking off." She was writing rapidly on her notepad. "It's hard to tell what it's supposed to be, without the right cases, but I think it says… 'Down with the dogs of the military. Tell General Cyclops to back off.' I can't imagine General Mustang's going to be happy about that one. Oh!" She looked up to see what Havoc was holding. "You meant that knife, didn't you?"

"Right." He said dryly. "I'm not one for this cryptic stuff. This is direct, at least. The murder weapon was a throwing knife. Not a particularly effective approach, unless you've got a good aim and a strong arm. All those transmutation circles by the victims led us to profile for an alchemist. I'd need the body to tell for sure, but I doubt it took just this one knife. This looks like it was planted."

She stepped gingerly past the outline and down the dais of the altar. "Does anyone besides that caller know we're here?"

"I don't think so."

"Good. Then no one can blame us for removing something from the scene of the crime." She smiled as Havoc pocketed it.

----------------------------

"I myself called in the fake dispatch." The prime minister smiled slightly. "For about fifteen or twenty minutes, that church will be virtually deserted. Lieutenant Havoc should be taking Miss O'Rielly to the site now. I believe the translation will probably be on your desk by the end of the day. With you here in my office, you can viably plead ignorance when and if Mr. Hausman finds out."

"Sir… Not that I don't appreciate your help, but it's my experience that people rarely do anything for free."

He sighed, but it was simply one of resignation and not irritation. "You may not have noticed this, general, but I'm getting on in years. You'll have to forgive an old man his foibles. I knew Lieutenant Hawkeye when she was just a girl and her grandfather was a friend of mine as well. It broke my heart to hear about her death. Such wonderful potential cut short… I do not know why the powers that be gave the murder investigation to Hausman, but I know something is up in Amestris. I would much rather see this matter in your hands.

"I'm old, Mustang. I'm not long for this office." He coughed, and Roy noticed that the hand that went to cover his mouth was shaking. "My power as prime minister, right now as we are still recovering, is limited. I've given most of the power to Parliament, but the time will come again will come again when we need someone stronger and more forceful to guide the way. My job is to hold onto things until an able successor is found. It would please me if you were to take my place."

His dream of being the Fuher was not one that he had thought of in a long time. For a time, his life had been happy and Amestris had been stable enough that he didn't need to think on it. And now… "Thank you, sir. But I don't know if I can accept such an offer right now."

"I don't intend to roll over and die tomorrow. Think on it for a while."

"There still that little problem of having assassinated the last Fuher." He said dryly.

"All you need is some good press." Heinrik said cheerfully. "One could easily interpret that as an act of patriotism. It's all in how you present things. You could probably also use the support of several other high ranking officials, and a few well-placed bribes, but that's for the future. You just think about if for now. You certainly have a lot on your plate now. Still, I believe it would please the late lieutenant if you were to have the opportunity again."

He had the feeling that Hawkeye's feelings were probably far from that, given the way they'd parted. But that was something that he couldn't even begin to address within his own head, let alone with the prime minister of Amestris.

"Which brings me to my second point." Heinrik said. "I may have a task for you soon, but I would prefer, for the time being, that the details of this remain between us…"

----------------------------

Mustang was not used to coming home to a house that smelled of food. He was not used to coming home to anything besides hours of solitude. What he certainly wasn't accustomed to was coming home to a house that smelled vaguely smoky and the sound of cursing and clattering pans coming out of the kitchen.

"It's not done yet." Laura burst out of the kitchen, her expression grim. She was also not looking directly at him, but rather in his general direction because her glasses were completely fogged up. "It'll be done in ten minutes. I burned the pot so I had to make another one. You can take it out of my paycheck."

He ignored that pronouncement, and slumped in a chair in his living room. He picked up a newspaper and cast it aside; it was old news and not even good news. He should have been feeling overjoyed, or happy at least, that his one remaining dream of being able to help Amestris was not dead, but felt a kind of tired wariness instead. He was not a young man anymore, and now youthful idealism didn't suit him anymore than that fedora Riza had once forced him into.

"I left the translation on your desk in your office." Laura called from the kitchen. "I'm afraid it's not very flattering towards you, but I figured you'd prefer a literal translation. The whole phrase wasn't well written, so I don't think its Vittoria's, or Dante's rather."

Strange hearing her refer to Dante in the third person, when she was the woman's double.

"I was thinking about Vittoria actually," she just kept on talking. Between this and the prime minister's offer, he wasn't sure if he could take it anymore. "She had lent me a book some time ago, when she wanted me to brush up on my Italian. The Inferno, by Dante Alighieri. It's not the same Dante, obviously, but the coincidences are quite striking. It's about a man's trip through the seven layers of Hell, and there's a layer for each sin: Lust, Envy, Greed, Gluttony, Wrath, Sloth, and Pride. Virgil, the man who wrote the quotes around Miss Hawkeye's transmutation circle is the one who guides this person through Hell. It's really quite strange how everything is connected."

He and Riza had once sat and debated throughout dinner, lively talks about literature and life. Sometimes they would simply sit and eat in silence, with no need to fill the air with idle chatter; they were content just to enjoy each other's company. They would joke sometimes, when time had put enough distance between it, that it had only taken a near death experience to bring them together.

He was struck suddenly by the cruel irony of this whole situation, that it was not Riza in his house, the only person he had ever really loved, but this girl who was practically a child. Riza was a woman grown, and although she was not much older that O'Rielly, he could not think of her as anything but a child.

_Roy, how could you?_

He had only thought to make their life together complete. He had not thought about anything else. He'd failed, and she left him, and he had enough trouble addressing that fact in his own head, let alone out loud. It had been all he could do to escapeAnd just like then, her voice came back to haunt him.

O'Rielly slid a plate of spaghetti in front of him, and at the moment, he didn't have the energy to tell her that it was the worst thing he'd ever tasted. That would come later, when everything she made was either too hard, too soft, or too inedible. For the moment, he didn't want anything more that to have her go and to never have to see her again. "That's enough, Laura. You can go now."

"I was just going to wash things up-"

"No." He said softly. "I'll do it. Please go."

She nodded, uncertainly. She had the unreasonable urge to apologize, although she was not sure what she had done. All she could think of was when they'd first encountered each other, when she'd stammered some grossly inadequate apology for the death of Riza Hawkeye. Instead she left, feeling worse for having said nothing at all.


	7. Chapter 6

6

With the first eventful day over, the rest of the week passed uneventfully. Whatever was bothering Mustang had passed too; by the next morning, he was his usual acerbic self, with something snarky to say about ever meal Laura made, whether it was deserved or not.

Things had settled into a comfortable rhythm. She showed up for breakfast and dinner and did groceries once a week. At the end of the first week there was a check made out to her for a good amount of money left on the counter. He offered no comment on it, and neither did she.

She could never tell if it was a good day or a bad day with him; his moods were indiscernible. She was afraid to ask how things were going with the investigation and Hausman when she had no information to offer him in return. She hadn't found any more convenient breaks in the case. She had been trying to rehearse the best way to ask Mustang for some information on Dante, but all of her attempts fell flat. She had decided to grease the wheels by making something new, a pot roast, but that was going equally badly.

Mustang came home with his usual door slam, but appeared to be in a decent mood. Good, that might make her job easier. "General, I-"

He stopped in front of the kitchen, looking vaguely puzzled to see her there. "You're here? I thought I told you I didn't need you today."

"You didn't say anything to me." She said, getting a sinking feeling that her little plan was falling to pieces. "And Havoc said-"

"Forget Havoc. I'm not firing you, I'm just going out for dinner tonight." He grabbed his jacket from where it had been carelessly draped over a chair, and sniffed at the air. "What are you making?"

"It's a roast." She said sullenly. The one day she'd actually tried to make something good, and it wasn't even going to be eaten. "Not that it matters now. Where are you going anyway?"

"Somewhere infinitely better than here." She peered down the hall at him. He was combing his hair, while carefully avoiding the band of his eye patch. He looked _happier_ than she'd ever seen in her brief period of employment. "It's not really any business of your, but if you must know, I'm going on a double date with Havoc and his girlfriend."

Her mouth must have dropped or something, because he gave her a very strange look. "What?"

"Nothing." She said hastily. She didn't know why she was so surprised over that. It wasn't as though the eye patch detracted much from his looks, although she'd never admit that. He could be charming when he wanted to be, although she had yet to witness that skill herself. She had thought he was in some permanent mourning period for Hawkeye, but maybe it was good he was getting out. "You still should have said something to me! I made this whole big thing, and no one's going to eat it!"

"So eat it yourself." He shrugged, putting his jacket on. "Just clean up after yourself and get out of here before I get back. I'm sure it's dry like everything else you've attempted, but there's no sense in letting it go to waste."

"But it's coming out so well!"

"Does my opinion really matter all that much to you?"

"No!" She glared at him. She was mad, because or a moment, it had. He was only her employer, and he wasn't a great one at that.

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow then. Try not to make a mess." He disappeared out the door, and the house felt oddly empty without him. Behind her, the timer and she swore loudly as she accidentally touched the oven.

Since she'd been given the run of the place, at least for the duration of the meal, she decided that she might as well make the most of it. Her thoughts moved briefly toward whether she should paw through the papers on his desk and see if there was anything worthwhile there. It would have been what Hausman would have recommended, had he been in her shoes. She shook her head and abandoned the idea. It had been a long time since she'd had a decent meal, and even longer since she'd been allowed to rest in a comfortable place like this. Mustang did pay her well and fairly, but it would be a long time until she could afford her own place. For now, it was summer, and a park bench sufficed for a bed.

She set a place for herself at the table and found a newspaper to read, enjoying the familiarity of the gesture. After perusing Mustang's record collection, she found something to suit her tastes. The strains of classical music filled the house as she helped herself to the fruits of her labor.

The beef _was_ dry, she thought, and cursed Roy Mustang for being right, as usual. Still, it wasn't a total loss; the potatoes were quite good and the green beans had been spared from the usual mushy softness. She finished up, cleared off her place, and washed the dishes. She didn't want to leave, she was feeling lazy and comfortable, neither of which were feelings she'd had in a while. She shouldn't be here when he got back; he had been quite specific on that. She had already inadvertently seen him shirtless before, and she didn't want to get any more personal that that. She didn't have much experience in the realm of double dating, but it probably should take longer than a half hour. There was time.

She moved into the living room and continued with her paper on the couch, aware that she was dawdling, but unwilling to do anything about it. From here, she had a clear view of the mantle where there were a few framed pictures. She knew enough now to recognize most of them. There was Mustang and his troops, unsmiling, with the exception of Fuery who was giving Havoc bunny ears. A much younger Mustang and Maes Hughes, looking giddy with matching diplomas. Mustang and Riza Hawkeye together, both smiling. It was strange seeing Hawkeye in personal photos, not the clinical ones given to her by the military for the investigation. She had her hair down and was wearing a pretty sundress, her eyes not quite looking at the viewer. Laura felt a pang of loneliness for a loss that wasn't even hers to mourn. It increased all the more when she realized that the majority of the people in those pictures were dead.

She went to put the paper back on the coffee table, intending to leave, but heard a tiny thud on the carpet from something she'd knocked over. Bending down, she saw a small black pawn lying underneath the table. Beside her paper was a chessboard with a game that looked like it was in progress. She knew nothing about chess and could not establish if the game was going well for either side. She wondered if Mustang played both sides or if he had someone else join him. Somehow she suspected the former.

She heard the door open and the matter of the chess set was forgotten. Mustang had returned, much sooner than she'd expected. He had taken his jacket off and thrown it over a chair, and when he turned around, she saw a weariness that he did not bother to hide. "You're still here?"

"Sorry." She said quietly. "I just, ah-" She remembered the pawn suddenly and placed it on the game board. "I was cleaning up. I wasn't expecting you back so soon, or I would have left sooner."

He fell back on the couch with an irritated sigh. "Ask away, why don't you? I can tell you're dying to know what brings me back so soon. I got stood up. Roy Mustang, stood up for a date. I thought I saw a pig go flying by when I left the restaurant."

"Oh." She had no idea of what to say to that. He was being bitterly sardonic, but it must have been a blow, obviously. His first attempt at dating after he lost his eye and Hawkeye's death, and it had failed miserably. Even she knew of Mustang's playboy days before the death of the Fuher. She could have had a field day with it. All she felt pity, but she knew enough that he would scorn that. She settled instead for avoidance. "I was thinking of making some tea. Would you like some?"

Tea, the British answer to all ills of the body and heart. He nodded curtly, making no comment as to how the tea would be cold or how she was mooching his food. It enabled her a few minutes to busy herself and think of something to say. Words, at least spoken ones, were not her strong suit. "She must be crazy then."

He looked at her incredulously. " Now, not that I'm trying to inflate your ego or anything, but I can see no good reason why you should be stood up." She said calmly. "Maybe she has a terrible sense of time or direction. Perhaps it's all three. Either way, those are highly undesirable traits to have in a prospective girlfriend. I can't imagine what would happen if you stayed together. There might be a bunch of little dim-witted, crazy, flame-spewing pyrotechnics running around Central, so really, it's quite good that you've gotten out now."

To her surprise, he burst out laughing. "That's the worst explanation for being stood up that I've ever heard. Not that I've heard any, but still."

She shrugged, but smiled. She had never heard him laugh before, and part of her was pleased she'd elicited the response. "I thought I'd try. It seemed to be the most logical explanation to me."

"Your idea of logic and mine must be miles away then. Look, you've even put the pawn in the wrong spot." He moved it carefully back to the place it had been before she'd knocked it over.

"I never claimed to know anything about chess. Although it is a rather fitting game for a dog of the military."

He smiled and she was surprised at herself for tying to provoke that response. "Would you like to learn?"

"Me?" One surprise after another. "My grandfather tried once and he gave up after two days because I was too dense to get it. It'd take you all night, and then some."

"It seems I have more time on my hands tonight than I thought I would." He had already begun moving the pieces back to their original places. "I doubt it would take you that long to learn. Besides, if I train you well enough, then I might be able to have a decent partner to play against."

The prospect of that was not unsatisfying. The teapot whistled shrilly and she jumped up to get it. "How will you take it?"

"Black, please. I have the feeling that this is going to be a long night."

-----------------

In the next few hours, Laura learned everything she could have possibly ever needed or wanted to know about chess. Mustang was a good teacher and he was unexpectedly patient with her, but he was still a harsh taskmaster. She knew perfectly well she stood no chance against him in a fair game, but he didn't make any attempt whatsoever to go easy on her. He trumped her first game in an astonishingly low number of moves, adding somewhat needlessly that she would need a better strategy that that if she wanted to be taken seriously.

They played many games; the first few were over abysmally quickly, but after a while she was able to get them to lengthen out a bit, little by little. She sat with her brow furrowed and a slight frown on her face, taking a terribly long time to plan her moves. Mustang eyed the board coolly, as if daring it to come up with something to challenge him. She had finally come up with a decent strategy and started talking in a shallow attempt to distract him from it. "You play this often then?"

"Often enough. I find it helps to clear my mind. It never hurts to practice strategy, although real war is never this neat and tidy." He fell for her feint and took her last pawn. "Much like fencing, it's an attempt to make something brutal into a cute game. Still, it has certain merits. I can see what you're doing with that knight, by the way, and it's not going to work."

"I know." She did know that, but the knight was a ploy. It was all she could do to feign the appropriate annoyance without showing how happy she was that her plan was working. "Don't worry, I haven't lost yet. If there's anything my grandfather taught me, it's not to give up, regardless of whether I'm going to lose, which I am, in this case."

"You're doing fine." He said mildly, taking another piece, one she hadn't counted on. "And your grandfather sounds like a contradictory fellow. You said he gave up on teaching you chess?"

"Yeah. I guess I got to be a little too much even for him. He's a tenacious man, though. Most Americans are. You should have seen the fight he put up when my father moved me out to Britain. He's not an alchemist, but he would probably give you a run for your money." She moved her knight slowly, hoping he wouldn't take notice. "He was…feisty. Not like my fathe-"

She had realized her mistake and cut herself off. It may have been a fortunate lapse, as Mustang took more interest in her dialogue than her movements. "What about your father exactly?"

"I'd rather not spoil a nice evening by talking about such dreary things as him. Besides," she couldn't hold back her glee. "Talking about that would take the attention away from my fantastic victory! I've taken your queen, Mustang, and your king is in check."

He looked a little shocked for a short moment before a slow smile crept up his face. "Very clever. That was unexpected."

"The student has bested the master then!"

"Oh, I wouldn't go so far as to say that. Unfortunately for you, my game can be won without the queen. And in this case…" He made his move deftly and she realized suddenly that in her haste to take his queen, she'd neglected to guard her own king well enough. "A pawn can still take down a king as well as the larger pieces can. You would do well to remember that. Checkmate."

Her face fell. "I thought I had you there."

"You did well, for a beginner. I didn't see your move with the queen coming, and that can be victory enough for you now." He yawned and flipped open his pocket watch. "Guess I lost track of time; it's rather late. Do you want me to walk you home?"

"No!" She did _not_ want him to know that her home consisted of a bench in Central Park. She wasn't sure why it mattered that much, but it did now. "No, it's fine, I'll walk by myself. It's not far, it's totally safe, I'll be fine."

"Alright." She had the feeling he might have pressed the issue if she stuck around much longer, so she hastened to grab her coat and purse. "If you feel up to it tomorrow, then perhaps we'll play again."

It didn't sound like it from his tone, but she had a sense that it was less of an invitation and more of a plea. She'd enjoyed herself tonight, surprisingly so, considering that she was pretty sure that he'd hated her not too long ago and her feelings had been mutual. "I'd like that."

She considered the evening again as she walked down the street to her makeshift home. She had suspected that the only reason Mustang kept her around was to get information out of her, so he could go off an avenge Hawkeye or something equally futile. He seemed to have abandoned that track after she'd run into his office and told him nearly everything she'd know. Subsequently, she'd let her guard down. But tonight was entirely unexpected. How strange that she had begun to think of the general almost as a friend. Most unexpected.

AN: This chapter was kind of fluffy, but I allow myself that much because there is no fluff after this. Midterms have begun and from the looks of my crazy calendar, I'm going to be busy until December, so it could be a while until the next chapter. (Hopefully not until December though…) Chapter 7 is good and I'm really interested in what you all think about it, so please stick around! I'll try to push these chapters out as soon as possible! This fic recently got up to 1000 hits, which is the most I've had yet. Thanks for reading, as always.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Another week passed, quicker than Mustang had thought it would. Of late, time seemed to have sunk its feet in the mud and trudged forward grudgingly, but it had recently regained its normal pace. Work had begun to take up the bulk of his time, as he had finally become active in a way that he hadn't since Fullmetal's disappearence and his time at home was not entirely unsatisfying as well. He would never admit it to Havoc, but the prospect of have some company in the evening was not as bad as he'd though, provided that he didn't taste the food. Even still, O'Rielly had managed to shove some of it down his throat, and he'd begun to fill out his uniforms again as opposed to having them hang off of him. She'd spared him to expense of having them tailored again, at least.

It had been a long time since he'd had any amusing diversions. Chess was predominantly a workout for the mind, and while chess with Laura was not particularly taxing, it was still interesting, to say the least. She had caught on quickly, although her strategies tended to skew toward the unorthodox. She had yet to win a game against him, although she had once come closer than he cared to admit. Much like Ed, she was hellbent on defeating him. It was a little amusing to watch, as well as nostalgic. Still, it kept him busy in the nighttime, and it prevented him from putting himself to sleep in a drunken stupor every night.

They sat down to play, as they did every night since his failed foray into the dating world. It was Saturday night again, and he was aware that Havoc had not asked him to join he and his girlfriend again. It didn't bother him; it was too soon for him to be thinking about such things now. He still felt Riza's loss keenly, although it had faded a little with time. He did not think of her death every waking moment anymore, but whenever he realized his lapse, he felt intensely disloyal for it. He needed to find who killed her; he had sworn as much, but he was no closer to finding anything than he had been four months ago. Threads dangled in front of him, but he could determine nothing of the whole pattern.

"Your head isn't in this tonight." Laura said, peering up over her glasses. "I've got a nice defense set up here, and you're not even going after it. Is something the matter?" She asked hesitantly. They spent an inordinate amount of time together, but they talked only of light things, with an unspoken pact not to pry into each other's business.

"Nothing more than usual. And your pawns make a poor barricade. I'll be through them in a moment."

"I'll be waiting for that then." She smiled, but it was gone quickly as he trounced her in six more moves. She typically took defeat with good natured aplomb, but instead frowned, with her head leaning against her hand. "I don't think my head can take any more chess. I spent all day in the library, cramming useless facts in my head and I don't think I can take any more of it."

He glanced at his pocketwatch. It was only eight o'clock, still early. He could recall a time before when he and Riza never had a Saturday night free. "Do you have any suggestions?"

She rubbed her head absently, although he suspected she already had something in mind. "Umm… I saw a place that sells ice cream up the street and I was thinking of getting some. Would you like to go with me?"

He smirked ever so slightly. "A date?"

"No." She scowled, but recovered quickly with a wry grin. "Although if it were, I would at least have the decency not to stand you up. Alas, it's just ice cream, although if you're concerned, I won't tell Havoc that you were dateless again if you'll do the same for me. I'll even treat you if you like."

"I might just take you up on that." He offered her an arm mockingly, which she took in the same spirit, willing to go along with his joke. "I haven't done this since I was a child. After you, O'Rielly."

It was summer in Amestris and a warm night. Once they'd left the residential area, there were plenty of people to be seen downtown. The ice cream vendor was busy and they waited in line with little to say to each other. He did end up paying for her, but he humored her by telling her he would cut the difference out of her paycheck. They settled down on the curbside to people watch in relative quiet. Laura glanced over at him surreptitiously, amused by the image of the State Alchemist trying to wrangle with a dripping ice cream cone.

There was a restaurant across from them and not a few couples were milling about. She looked away after a particularly amorous pair began enthusiastically expressing their affections under the light of a lamppost. Relationships like that felt like another world away for her, which in fact, it was. Considering that her only companion and nearest thing to a friend was the generally ill-tempered Mustang, she was having a hard time thinking on that. There were strains of music spilling out across the street and she spoke up abruptly. "The piano in your house- do you ever play it?"

He did not look particularly surprised that she'd spoken up; his answering glance was wry and knowing. "Not for a long time. It was my mother's. I knew how when I was younger…I've probably forgotten it by now."

"I'm sorry." It was an automatic response, and as always, a useless one. "About your mother, I mean, not the piano."

"Don't be, she's not dead. We're merely estranged." He finished the ice cream cone and tossed the remnants expertly into the trash. "And if you want to know anything more than that, you'll have to offer something about your own family in return."

"Ah, I see. Quid pro quo." She paused for a moment, then haltingly recited some information as if learned by rote. "There's not much to say. We're painfully boring. My immediate family used to live in America, near my maternal grandfather in Boston. We were there until I was 13, when my mother died. After that, my father, the scholar, accepted a tenured position in England and he moved me overseas. He took me into his life of academia, although I would have preferred my grandfather's path. In his time, he'd been part of intelligence for the US Army. And now you owe me something of yours. Tell me why you are estranged, because you wouldn't have dangled that carrot in front of me unless you wanted me to know."

"A carrot…how very apt." He mused sardonically. "To put it simply, my parents disagreed with my career choices. I was their only child, they wanted someone to carry on their farm- yes, farm, don't look so damn shocked- and they claimed that a son of theirs would become a dog of the military over their dead bodies. Suffice to say, they are both still living, although we haven't spoken in years. My mother did send me a telegram when I was in the hospital three years ago, but that was all."

It was sad, but he didn't need her to tell him that much. She had little to say anyway, since her relationship with her own surviving parent was equally bad. "You know… Maybe at some point, we'll be friends enough to talk without this system of trading."

He gave her a slight smile. "Maybe." It was gone very quickly. "Well then, shall we part here, or would you like to try a game again?"

She didn't know her answer, and she couldn't judge by his tone what response he was looking for. Thankfully, it was not required of her, as the small officer she'd seen a few weeks ago was running over to them with a missive in his hands. He was the one who had tried to block her bodily when she'd burst into Mustang's office, and his expression was as distressed as it was then. "Sorry to disturb you sir, but there's a message for you, and it's urgent!"

"Urgent enough to warrant a personal delivery?" He said with raised eyebrows.

Fuery didn't back down. "Yes, sir. It's about the alchemic arrays with the foreign words on them. There's been another murder down at the docks. I thought you'd want to investigate personally before Hausman got to it."

"Convenient." He turned toward Laura. "Will you come?"

She didn't like the sound of the docks, which were ominous to her for more than one reason. "I'll go. I don't have anywhere else to be."

There was something of her present in that, the personal things that they weren't supposed to talk about. He caught it, judging by his expression, and nodded in agreement. "Alright then. Let's go."

It was not nearly so dramatic as that. They stopped along the way to get Havoc, somewhat anticlimactically. Fuery tried to dissuade him, saying that two or three people (he added Laura as an afterthought) were more than sufficient for an investigation like this. Mustang was not to be deterred; he wanted Havoc as well. It seemed they were the only two members of his team left, the ones who were not dead or had transferred. O'Rielly, as Mustang referred to her, was merely a silent participant, effectively reduced to a mere surname.

. The general's eye was afire with purpose in a way that Laura had never seen before. If the others noticed the difference, they said nothing, but to her it was frightening. There was a surety of purpose about him, evident in the extra tug he gave his gloves, a deadly kind of self-assurance. He was a man who knew what he could do and could do it very well.

And the docks were troubling for another reason. It was a suitably ominous place for this to move to. Who was it now, a deck hand, a sailor, or another soldier? Deviations from the pattern kept cropping up more and more It was quiet here, save for the sounds of the sea, the bob of a buoy, the waves lapping the shore, and a distant call of the ship… There was a droning, whining sound in her head that just kept getting bigger.

"It's over here… Just watch out for that board over there; it's broken through. The prime minister really ought to spend some money to fix this place up; it's gotten so decrepit lately." Fuery hopped over the sizeable gap neatly, avoiding the seawater intruding on the platform. "It's not much further now."

The fact that this place was still deserted meant that both the police nor Hausman knew about it yet and their chances of finding viable information and potential witnesses increased about tenfold. Not all he needed was for O'Rielly to do a translation on the spot. He didn't like depending on others, particularly when it came to her, but it couldn't be helped. He glanced back to see how she was faring and stopped short when he saw that she had fallen behind back to where the gap was.

"O'Rielly? What are you-" He hesitated when he saw that she had gone completely white, her eyes unfocused and she was trembling. It looked like she was going into shock, but he couldn't imagine what provoked it. "What's the matter?"

…_the memory of old water, and an old boat, and an old memory that drowning was the worst way to die because you had plenty of time to think about it…_

"I can't." She whispered. Her hands shook and there were tears in her eyes. Just when he needed her, she fell apart. "Please don't make me."

"What on earth-?" He looked down, seeing the water that had flooded through the gap. "For heaven's sake, O'Rielly, it's just a foot of water. Jump over it."

He wavered for a moment, recognizing something he hadn't seen since his first major battle in Ishbal, a paralyzing, mind-numbing fear that inevitably beset the fresh-faced, untried soldiers when they first hit the field of battle. It was typically a prelude to them being hit by a hailstorm of Ishbalan bullets. But this wasn't a battle, at least not one like Ishbal, and Laura O'Rielly was no soldier, only a child a long way from her home. He reached forward, ignoring the fact that she flinched at his touch, and lifted her gently, like he would a toddler, over the gap.

Her eyes were squeezed shut the entire time and she stifled a cry as her foot grazed the water. He set her down, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with her. If it were Maes who was here, he would surely have something comforting to say, anything. Mustang was always at a loss when it came to things like that. "Breath." He said, settling for the basics. "Take a deep breath. You'll be alright."

She nodded, apparently following his meager advice. Further down, Havoc and Fuery exchanged glances; they had been watching the exchange, but weren't sure what to do about it. O'Rielly walked like a zombie with her head down to the ground, but she was walking nonetheless, so Mustang kept going, trying to ignore her curious lapse. As long as she could translate…that was all that mattered.

_He needed to know._

Fuery stopped before the back wall of a building on the beach. There were words on the wall, written in red, but there was no transmutation circle around them like there usually was. There was no body and the lettering of the writing was odd. Mustang ran a finger on one of the words, which was still wet and sniffed it hesitantly. "It's paint…" He turned around. "O'Rielly! What's it say?"

Laura seemed awake now; her eyes were almost alert. "It says…dues ex machina…God from the machine-a trap…"

Behind them, there was suddenly the unmistakable sound of a gun being fired and the whiz of a snipers bullet as glass shattered. Mustang whirled around to see O'Rielly, her eyes wide and dazed with a trickle of blood going down her cheek, and her glasses on the sand with a lens broken.

"That bitch!" Annoyance twisted Fuery's face. "I told her not to interfere. It's just too damn bad for her now. She's too late. It's my turn now."

Even with Laura's eyesight blurred, she could see Fuery's form stretch and blur into something entirely different. There was a flash of metal appear out from under Fuery's sleeve. He moved too fast, before Mustang could react, to cut at his outstretched hand, which was poised to snap. The pyrotex glove ripped across the sigil and Fuery grinned, only it wasn't Fuery now, not at all.

"Hello, Roy." Maes Hughes smiled back at him. "Long time no see."


End file.
